Author: Alexander Fawn

The old man was sitting on the front porch smoking his pipe when the boy came by.

Always feeling he could rely on his grandfather to listen to his troubles, he sat down and explained how he had been playing in the park, kicking his ball around with his mates. The boy got teary when he explained that he left it under one of the park seats while the three of them went off tree-climbing for a while. When they returned, it was gone!

“Probably pinched, but we didn’t see anybody,” the boy said, looking up at his grandfather with wet eyes.

“Ah! Well, sorry to hear that son,” he said, patting the boy on his knee.

“It was my favourite ball; cost heaps.”

The old man sighed. “Never mind; there’ll be others.” He sat puffing on his pipe for a while. “There are all kinds of losses, you know. Why! In this street alone, I could give you examples”. He fell silent while he knocked out his pipe. “Yes, four cases come to mind.”

The boy sat back ready to listen. He enjoyed the old man’s stories.

“It happened to that nice young woman up there at twenty-eight. She’d had a visit from her sister and her husband. After tea they said how much they enjoyed her casserole. She was flattered and said they were welcome to take what was left over and they could enjoy it all over again. When the time came for them to leave, the woman said that the dish had cooled and why not take it as it is and return the dish next time.” He shook his head. “It was a beautiful looking pot with a flower design on the sides and on the lid. It was a bit of an heirloom apparently, passed down a couple of generations. She knew how precious it was. Anyway, that’s what they did.” He shook his head again. “Sadly, on their way home they had an accident; a minor one at first. They ran into the back of another vehicle and when they got out he engine caught fire. They stood on the side of the road watching when the tank went up. In no time at all, the thing was a blazing inferno!”

“Wow! Said the boy.

“Wow indeed! You see how these things can happen? She lost her dish.”

After a brief pause, he went on. “Then there was the retired guy at number fourteen, who spent so much of his time writing short stories, then taking them to the local pub and reading them to his fans. It was just a small group of half-a-dozen people who drank there regularly. Once a week they’d sit in the corner while he read to them. Anyway, he’d been ill for a long time, then suddenly it got worse. He was told that he didn’t have long to live. Naturally, his fans said how sad they were when their meetings stopped. Then, right out of the blue, he got better! The funny thing was, after letting people know the good news of his recovery and how they could continue with their evenings, he turned up at the appointed time to find that none of them were there! They had all started drinking somewhere else. He couldn’t understand why.” He nodded at the boy. “There you are, you see. He lost his audience.”

He scratched his head and went on. “I don’t know whether you know this, but the man at number seventeen is a heavy drinker.

The boy shook his head.

“No, perhaps you wouldn’t. Anyway, he got so drunk that one evening he staggered into the local library. People that had been sitting quietly reading looked up with a start when he banged the door open. He went up to the girl at the enquiry desk and ordered a gin and tonic. When she refused to take his order he started yelling at her, demanding she get him a drink. She tried to explain where he was, but he obviously didn’t understand and became really aggressive. It took two of them, the manager and one of the men that had been browsing books, to throw him out!” The old man snorted. “I hear he went back a couple of days later to apologise, but they didn’t want to know. He lost his library membership.”

After shaking his head slowly, he looked up. “Probably the worst and most tragic was the case of the old lady over there, at number four. Sad case. With her husband gone, and her forty-something year old son, as mad as a March hare still living at home. This son of hers had been getting really frustrated with a neighbour’s dog. It kept coming into the front garden, braking plants and digging holes. It turns out that she was out late one afternoon when the nice little delivery boy came delivering the local paper. It was getting dark and he was half way up the garden path when the son grabbed the shotgun and opened the front window. The woman arrived home only minutes later to find her son standing over the body.”

The old man sniffed.

“She had lost her favourite delivery boy.”

The youngster wriggled around on the seat. He looked up wide eyed at the old storyteller.

“Is any of that true Grandpa?”

“Uh? Well, whether it is or it isn’t, make the most of it. They tell me I’m no longer able to look after myself. They’re putting me in a home.”

He sniffed again.

“They say I’m losing my marbles!”

The two men sat in silence.

Outside, an early evening storm seemed to be brewing. Inside, the father thought about what his son had said. He thought about the consequences that may well follow, if any.

A distant, gentle roll of thunder penetrated the silence of the room.

The son also sat thinking. He couldn’t think of anything meaningful that he could add. He turned to look at the darkening window.

A light rain was now splashing against the glass.

The father slowly put down the newspaper he’d been reading.

Thunder sounded again, this time with a boom.

The son watched, as his father removed his glasses, noting not for the first time how carefully he placed them down. In his eyes, his father had always been a wise and prudent man. He considered the differences between them. There seemed to be a wide gap, something that went beyond the obvious differences in their age.

The rain began pelting against the window now and the occasional flash of lightening lit the back garden.

The father went to the window and looked out for a while. It was obvious that a summing up of what he’d been told was running through his head.

Thunder clapped loudly somewhere overhead and the relentless rain still pounded the side of the house.

After peering up at the sky, the father closed the curtains. He gave a barely audible groan as he sat back down.

Another clap of thunder.

The son leant forward slightly, as if there was something he wanted to add, but instead, he lowered his head with a sigh.

As time passed, the rain began to ease and the sound of the storm fell away.

The father picked up his glasses and his newspaper. He sat regarding his son for a few long seconds before returning to his reading.

The rain had stopped and only distant rumblings could be heard.

The son sunk further back into his chair. He watched his father for a while. It was as though they had come to some tacit agreement that there was nothing more to say.

Soft rumblings told him that the storm had nearly passed.

He stood back from the crowd, barely able to hear the priest.

It was fine weather for a funeral. He didn’t want to get too close. The body was being lowered, still riddled with the undetected poison that brought it there. Not that it mattered, when it’s six feet under, its hardly relevant. It was nice to observe the people who turned out. He watched his family and friends drop flowers and messages onto the coffin as it disappeared. He saw so many sad faces. It was consoling to know that they really cared.

Then he spotted her.

He could hardly believe it. “After what she did, she has the audacity to actually come and watch me being buried,” he thought.

As a vapourish spirit, he floated to her side, and went… “Boo!”

The small coastal town hit paydirt when the monorail was installed.

In fact, the entire region prospered in terms of tourist trade. All thanks to the clever people at the local robotics institute coming up with the design and the town council for giving it the green light. The entire operating system was virtually maintenance free. Time alone would tell if the installation would cause the local economy to go gangbusters, and it did. The system, being both solar powered and fully automated, changed the lives of so many in the tiny community.

The idea was simple enough. Three carriages, each with seating for six. This often meant a couple of families in each. The circuit took just under five minutes. The one-stop platform, with its automated doors and voice announcements, saw constant crowds queuing throughout its operating hours, six days a week. The children loved it. Without doubt, the main drawcard… it was free!

Of course, this was all before the world’s major powers pressed a few buttons and started the final global conflict. The end result of this, no more passengers.

The monorail will continue its scheduled circuits, just as long as the sun keeps shining…

Because he was a hermit, the beginning and the truth of it would never be known.

His wisdom and knowledge were quite remarkable. Within the solitude of the surrounding woodlands he had looked ahead and wondered how he would cope with the forthcoming personality transition. In practical terms he had put money aside for the day. He had a small backpack and was dressed in reasonable, unremarkable attire. So, at the appointed time he slowly walked through and out of the forest and entered the village, where he caught a bus. At the station he boarded a train and arriving at the airport he bought a ticket and waited for the first available flight. After landing at the international airport in Kathmandu he trekked west for the best part of three hours until he reached the ancient religious complex at the top of a hill where he found and entered the temple.

After sitting in meditation for a while he came out to sit beneath the night sky. Here he sat in silence just long enough for him to begin to rise up gently from the ground. He kept floating higher and higher. Up he went into the night sky. He flew up amid and beyond the sparkling stars. He passed the planets and travelled beyond. Leaving the solar system behind, he went among the stars. He skirted moons and asteroids and glided passed other galaxies. Further and further he went, until he reached the very end of the known universe and the nexus with the other half of the dual universe.

Here, he paused briefly at the membrane, that which separated one from the other, the second universe… just enough time for him to pass through into the unknown. There to begin another journey.

No human from planet Earth had ever crossed over before.

Once more, he wondered about his imminent personality transition from hermit to celebrity.

He was on his way home in the late afternoon, driving slowly through a raging storm.

He was listening to severe weather reports on his radio. Rain was lashing his windscreen and his wipers were on the fastest setting. From time to time heavy winds were buffeting the side of his car. Up ahead he could see people cowering for shelter at a bus stop. He had heard on the radio that many bus services were not running owing to breakdowns and bad weather. As he drew closer he could make out two men and a woman. He recognised his neighbour, who he knows doesn’t own a mobile phone, but who had recently stopped, coming to his rescue, when his own car broke down. He didn’t recognise the other two.

He pulled up to them as close as possible and wound his window down partway. They could all see that his sports car had only one passenger seat. Shouting back and forth, it was established that the other man was the owner of the coffee house in town who had come out without his wallet or his phone. The woman was elderly and was looking poorly. They explained that she had been taken sick while waiting for the bus and was in urgent need of an ambulance. Knowing that he could only take one, he knew he was in a moral dilemma and his choice was clear. First take the old lady to hospital and return for his neighbour, who he would take home, then he could return for the stranger and take him to wherever he needed to get to.

Despite the urgency of the situation, he paused for a few beats to think again. His recent reading of Edward de Bono’s book on lateral thinking came to mind. He yelled out his plan to have his neighbour drive the woman to hospital and then return his car home, while he would call and wait for a taxi with the other man. They all nodded.

As they watched the car pull away, speaking loudly against the noisy conditions, the stranger explained that he hadn’t wanted to drive in the bad weather. He said he’d been on his way to visit his daughter, who was expecting her first baby in a week or two. He explained where that was and asked if that was OK.

The other smiled and nodded.

The stranger called out, “Drop me there and I’ll serve you a free coffee whenever you visit my café.”

“Do you do cappuccinos?”

“I do.”

He took out his phone to call for a taxi and shouted, “You’re on!”

It was while they were holidaying in the country in a rented chalet that he proposed.

For the remainder of the week they discussed wedding plans; dates and places. It was going to happen very quickly. Arrangements would be put in place soon after their return. Then, quite unexpectedly, on their final day, it happened. They were going over the list of guests again, sitting on the front porch, when something clattered to the floor inside. She was the first to go back in. At first, she could see no reason for the smashed cup to be on the floor. It had been on the table, nowhere near the edge. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, but with hardly any breeze; certainly not enough wind to blow it off the table. After standing quietly looking around for a minute or two, she sensed movement behind the kettle. She stepped to one side and saw a small field mouse sniffing the surface. She stood watching it for a while before he joined her.

“What was it?” he asked.

Without taking her eyes off it, she said, “It’s him… or her.”

“Damn!” he groaned, and began walking around the room.

She was puzzled. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for something to hit it with.”

“Hit it? Why would you do that?”

He paused. “Oh! We don’t want the thing bringing disease into the place, do we?”

She stiffened. “It’s not a rat, it’s a field mouse.”

He sighed. “It’s just the quickest way, that’s all. Better than chasing it around.” He looked angry. “We’re in the middle of something more important than this thing, whatever it is.”

She took a deep breath, wondering about the value that he put on the life of the small animal. “It’s a field mouse and I’ll take care of it. I’ll join you in a minute,” she said firmly.

He shrugged. “OK.” He sneered at the mouse, still moving around sniffing things. “Try not to spend too much time on it.” He went back to the porch and the list.

She watched him go, before opening cupboards until she came up with a plastic bowl with a lid. She moved forward and carefully placed the bowl over it. Then, trying not to hurt the tiny creature, she slid the lid underneath. She picked it up, listening to the scrabbling noise coming from inside. Pushing the back door open with her shoulder she went out, holding it as steady as she could manage.

The chalet, being part of a farm property, had a large field behind it. Slowly walking into the centre of it, she sat down with the upturned bowl between her knees. “This is where you live,” she whispered. She lifted the lid and smiled as she watched it scamper away to become lost to view in the thick grass.

It was pleasant, sitting there in the sun. She sat lost in thought for a while. She looked at the time and worked it out. From the time the cup fell, she estimated ten, fifteen minutes, no longer. She thought about that; it wasn’t long. It wasn’t long compared with a year or a month, or maybe just a week or two before she found out about his attitude towards life. Not his life or hers, but life…

She got to her feet. She stood for a while, not seeing any trace of the mouse, but thinking about how by breaking the cup it had given her an insight into the management of her future happiness. These thoughts she would keep to herself. They would finish the list. Fly out tomorrow. Go back to their separate lives for a day or two before letting him know how their plans had changed.

Enlightenment was his speciality; he was just one of those ‘did you know’ people.

They were sitting together on the settee, half watching a show on television.

“Sleeping burns more calories than watching TV” he says, casually. He was doing it again.

“Did you know that a French pig was actually hung for murder?

Her head wagged slowly. “You don’t say.”

“Yes, and not only that, pigs can’t look up at the sky.”

“Wow!” she whispered.

“Not many people know that coconut water can be a replacement for blood plasma.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and the Japanese think crooked teeth are attractive.”

“They do?”

He smiled and said, “It’s hard to believe that you have to pick blueberries before they ripen.”

She grunted, her eyes were beginning to close.

He went on. “Did you know that the French can legally marry dead people?”

She mumbled something and fell asleep. She began snoring almost instantly.

Good Lord! That was quick, he thought. She’s snoring, that’s OK. She does that a lot. Anyway, it’s not a problem.

“Did you know”, he says, addressing the empty room, “that a person’s sleep isn’t effected by snoring until it goes above forty decibels?”

Despite receiving no reply, the silence in the room was familiar.

This was the part of his work that he enjoyed the most.

The chief inspector had asked all six members of the household to gather in the manor house’s living room. There was the mistress of the house, now a widow; the butler, who found the master shot dead in the library; the maid, who was upstairs dusting at the time; the gardener, who was pruning in the back garden; the cook, who was stewing fruit in the kitchen, and she was joined there by the chauffeur who had come in for a cup of tea. On the face of it, none of them where in the library when the gun was used. All of them were at home when the fatal shot was fired. They all seemed to have alibis, but the inspector was about to blow the lid off the case.

He looked up from his notebook as they assembled. He counted five. “We seem to be one short,” he said, then asked, “Where’s the maid?” The mistress raised her hand, saying, “I’ll get her,” and hurried out. The inspector caught a brief smile that passed from the cook to the butler. He assumed that it wasn’t unusual for the maid to get behind with things. They all sat waiting in silence. After several long minutes, the inspector asked the gardener to go and fetch them so that he could move forward with the case. He was getting impatient, but he tried to remain professional. When even more minutes had ticked passed the chauffeur gave an impatient grunt and got up saying he’d go and give them a big hurry up. After even more waiting the cook hurried out without saying a word. The inspector, now left alone with the butler and wondering what was going on, went to say something, but was stopped when the butler said he would get to the bottom of it, and left.

The inspector was left on his own in the room, and as though it was perfectly natural, was still there when he looked at the time several minutes later. With a great sigh, and feeling more than a little foolish, he left the room in search of any one of them. After checking all of the rooms, from top to bottom, he found himself back downstairs and listening to a series of muffled noises. When he entered the kitchen, he heard something that sounded like giggling, coming from the pantry. He opened the door and the butler stepped forward, trying really hard not to laugh. “I’m sorry, inspector,” taking on a more serious and apologetic voice, we shouldn’t have done this, we know that.” He looked around at the others, who all stood nodding and looking like naughty school children. “It’s just that, well, you know how it is, the big manner house, the police inspector solving the case, gathering everybody in the living room, naming the culprit, making the arrest, all of that.” He looked around again at the others. “We knew who did it before we telephoned…” he giggled, then suppressed it, “it was the groom!”

The inspector stood gobsmacked for a while, trying to take it all in. “Groom? What groom, you don’t have any horses!”

“No, not our groom, he’s from the farm further down the lane. He and the master were always having words,” he looked back again and they were all nodding, this time seriously, “sometimes they would get into shouting matches,” he went on, “usually about money… we think the master may have owed him.”

They all slowly made their way out into the kitchen, while the butler explained.

“The gardener and I wrestled him to the floor, tied him up, gagged him and put him in the cellar.”

“Cellar? You don’t have a cellar.”

“Ah! Beg pardon, we do, sir. The cupboard under the stairs leads to a secret passage, with steps down to a small cellar. We tied him up pretty thoroughly.” Again he looked around at the others who were nodding at one another and smiling with obvious pride. The inspector made a brief note in his book and said, “Show me.”

They all trooped out into the hall and filed through the door under the stairs and down to the cellar. As he’d been told, the groom was not only securely bound and gagged, but tied to the leg of a table.

Back upstairs, with the man in handcuffs, the inspector called the station and arranged for the culprit to be taken into custardy. When this had been done, the inspector suggested they all return to the living room.

It was there that the inspector explained that his report would show that he, and he alone, had successfully caught and arrested the culprit, and in return he would not be laying charges against any of them on the grounds of perverting the course of justice.

As he left for the station, he considered himself lucky that no one had asked him who he had intended to name…

The girl who served behind the counter made his heart beat faster every time he went in.

There was no doubt about it; she was a stunner! He had to admit that it was just the thought of seeing her again that made him use the same café regularly. It wasn’t just her looks. She had a lovely personality, so open and friendly. Her simple uniform was always crisp and clean, and as for her smile!

He was reading his paper when he heard the scrabbling noise. He looked up and gave out a brief scream as he came face to face with the most hideous creature. It was crouching, right in front of him. Its black eyes bored into him. Its disgusting pink body was covered with huge wrinkles. It didn’t seem to have any hair. It looked menacing. The repulsive thing just sat there staring at him. He’d never seen anything like it. It was something straight from hell.

His cry of fear had gained the attention of other customers. He was considering rolling his newspaper up beneath the table and clubbing it, when the girl of his dreams approached.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, as she picked the filthy thing up.

He shuddered as he watched her stroking the underside of the revolting creature’s chin, causing the ugly body wrinkles to ripple slightly. “What is it?” he managed to stammer.

She flashed a smile. “Oh! This is Archie, he’s a hairless rat. He’s really quite harmless.” She said this as though it was perfectly normal to hold such a gruesome thing against her body.

A wave of disgust swept over him. He knew some sort of horrid contagion was at play, without fully understanding what it was.

She was still smiling, but it didn’t have the same appeal as before.

He did know that there were other cafés in town.